The Melancholy Tale of Tom the Tomato
I was visiting a friend in Reno one weekend. As we drove around town, there was a thump thump thumping sound coming from the back. It took me a while to investigate what was causing the noise. Eventually, I pulled out a slightly worn down tomato.
“Oh, that,” Stacey said. “I picked it up at the market the other day.”
“Are you going to eat it?”
“You can have it.”
“Great, I think I will keep it as a pet.”
I named it Tom, and he was great company on the drive back home. But it was clear his time on earth was running short. I sensed that Tom really wanted to see the beach. So I took him there.
Then on a somber Sunday afternoon, I cut him up, layered him with burrata imported from Italy (much prefer it to mozzarella), drizzled some aged balsamic cream and topped with basil leaves. Tom made for one of the best capreses I’ve ever had.
This post is dedicated to Tom the Tomato.
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